


Walking Wounded

by J_D_McCormick



Category: Constantine: City of Demons (Cartoon), Hellblazer & Related Fandoms
Genre: Child Abuse, Forced Self Harm, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, chas and john are Good Friends, descriptions of abuse, injuries caused by abuse, it's a messy one lads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-20 15:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30007236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_D_McCormick/pseuds/J_D_McCormick
Summary: John runs off to Chas’ house fairly regularly. Queenie’s Castle isn’t really a safe haven, not by a long shot, but it’s safer than the Constantine residence – right now, anyway.Or, that’s what John thinks, until Chas opens the door with a dishtowel pressed to his face which does nothing to hide the blood pouring down it.
Relationships: Chas Chandler & John Constantine
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Walking Wounded

**Author's Note:**

> Going with the City of Demons canon that John and Chas grew up together in Liverpool, because I love that concept, with various pieces of Hellblazer canon bastardised into it. They're somewhere around the ages of 14-15 here.

John runs off to Chas’ house fairly regularly. Queenie’s Castle isn’t really a safe haven, not by a long shot, but it’s safer than the Constantine residence – right now, anyway.

Or, that’s what John thinks, until Chas opens the door with a dishtowel pressed to his face which does nothing to hide the blood pouring down it.

He looks freaked out, nervous and jittery, which John can understand. He’s never seen Chas with this much blood on him before, not even after scuffles at school, and for a few moments he’s just as lost about what to do about it as Chas seems to be. Then he shakes off the surprise, steps forward, and clasps Chas’ shoulder.

“Let’s get in, yeah? Don’t want the neighbours ogling.” He says, aiming for gentle, and Chas nods wordlessly and lets himself be steered inside with John following him.

John gets him situated on the battered, too-soft sofa, and pokes around in the kitchen cupboards until he finds the small first-aid kit Chas keeps. While he’s there he fills the kettle and sets it to boil, figuring that a few steadying cups of tea will be in order soon enough. When he gets back to the front room, Chas has peeled away the dishtowel and is staring down at it, like he can’t quite believe how much blood has soaked into the fabric.

“She caught me with a bottle.” Chas mumbles as John kneels down in front of him and rummages for a clean rag to soak with medical saline. “Chucked it at my head, like. I dodged it but it shattered on the wall and some of it must’ve caught me.”

“Rotten luck.” John hums. Up close, he can see Chas’ eyes are red, and feel the prickle that he’s learned means there’s magic in the air. “This’s gonna smart like hell.”

Sure enough, Chas sucks in a sharp breath when John starts dabbing the saline over where he thinks the blood is originating.

“She’s never done this before.” Chas says, and his voice wavers just a little. John keeps quiet, and keeps wiping away blood, trying to find its source. “Drawn blood, I mean. You know what a bloody cow she can be, yellin’ and screamin’ all the time, throwing shit. She’ll give me a good thump sometimes. But never… not like this. So it freaked me out, y’know?”

John finds the cuts – there’s one at Chas’ temple, cutting into his hairline. The other slices through his eyebrow, right above his eye. They’re still bleeding a fair amount, so John presses at them hard with the rag.

“I thought I’d gone bloody blind.” Chas’ words sound choked, and John reaches down to wrap his hand around Chas’ wrist and squeeze soothingly. Chas’ fingers catch on his sleeve and grip tight. “I was yelling,  _ Mam you’ve taken me eye out _ , and she’s just shoutin’ for me to stop being such a poof about it, and then she- she did the shit with the ectoplasm or what the fuck ever, stuffed me mouth up and held me down.”

“’S alright, Chas.” John murmurs, but Chas shakes his head a little and squeezes his eyes shut.

“An’ I thought I was bleedin’ out, and me eye was gone, so I were thrashing to get away, and she just held me down til I went still. Then she told me to fuck off and get cleaned up.” He finishes, and shallows convulsively. “I’ve… I’ve not been that scared of her since I found Terry.”

John feels his lips twist down. What had happened to Terry had been nasty – hung from their banister, left for Chas to find. Obviously Queenie’s work, though no way to prove it. John remembers Chas being a nervous wreck for weeks after that, jumping at shadows, hyperventilating every time he had to go home, ten years old and looking like he’d been in a war zone. They’d both known it was a threat, a show of how powerful Queenie could be, the things she could do if Chas didn’t belt up and do as he was told. He’d had no choice but to do it, too, and the past years Chas has endured everything quietly, making himself solid and steady like a rock. Rain or shine, words or blows, Chas would take it, head bowed and mouth shut.

John, though. John has never learned that lesson, not in the past fifteen years and not, it seems, any time soon. John has always been one to kick, and scream, and try to run away or fight back. Sometimes he envies Chas and his quiet, steadfast resistance, wonders if his dad would beat him less if he could just duck his head and shut his mouth.

In the end, though, they’re both just scared boys desperately trying to make it through. They’ve just got different methods.

“Good news, mate, your eye’s just fine.” John tells him quietly. He’s not sure he ever quite achieves that soothing, soft tone Chas does sometimes, but he tries damn hard, when he thinks Chas needs it. “Nicked your eyebrow, and head wounds bleed like the devil, so that’s prob’ly why you couldn’t see out of it.”

“’S not too bad?” Chas asks, glancing up at him, and John gives him a small grin.

“Nah, mate. Just a couple small cuts.” John assures him. “They’ve stopped bleedin’ now, too.”

Chas nods and sighs, looking down at the dishtowel he’s still holding. “I’m never gonna get the blood out of this.”

“Cold water and a bit of bleach should do it.” John tells him offhandedly. “C’mon, I’ll get us a cuppa. You can set it soaking.”

They pad through to the kitchen, and Chas half-fills the washbasin with cold water before dumping the towel into it while John sets about making tea. There’s a calming regularity to it all, the reason John ran off to Chas’ house in the first place, following each step one after another; grabbing two mugs, depositing a tea bag into each, spooning two sugars into Chas’ before pouring in the hot water and leaving them to steep as he pokes around in the fridge for the milk . When he turns back around, Chas seems to be getting over his shock, shoulders eased back into his usual easy slouch as he grabs biscuits from another cupboard.

“So what’d your dad do this time?” Chas asks without even looking over at John. John scoffs as he pours milk into the tea and stirs both cups.

“What makes you think he did anything?” John says, unable to resist being snarky.

Chas gives him a flat look over his shoulder. “You showed up at my house unannounced at seven on a school night.” He points out.

“Could’ve just wanted to pop by, couldn’t I? Just wanted to see me best mate Chas. ‘S not a crime, is it?” John throws back flippantly. He knows that it’s avoidance, an attempt to delay a sincere response so he can work up the nerve to say it. Chas knows it. John knows that Chas knows it, and he knows that’s why Chas just rolls his eyes and carries his plate of biscuits through to the front room. John follows him, setting down the mugs before flopping heavily onto the settee.

He sighs, and rolls up the sleeve of his school shirt. There are two new, neat burn scars on his inner arm, clustered with the others.

“Caught me smoking, realised I’d nicked some of his cigs.” John mutters quietly, tracing the red irritation around the marks. “Put his out on me and… made me put mine out too.”

He’d baulked at the idea at first – he was used to being battered, and he was used to his dad grabbing him firmly by the wrist and using his inner elbow to put out his cigarettes, but he’d never done so himself. His hand had shaken as Tom yelled loud in his ear, berating and taunting,  _ go on killer, show some guts, stop being a pansy coward and take the punishment you deserve _ . In the end, the burn had been no worse than all the others, really. The only difference was John decided where to put it. How hard to press it. When to lift the butt away. It had been a rush, in some way that John was slightly terrified of.

That had been why he’d run here.

Chas winces and sucks in a sympathetic breath. “Right pair of walking wounded, we are.” He says. “Let me clean them, and you can stay for tea.”

“Are you sure?” John asks, offering out his arm for Chas to clean the burns. There’s a benefit to Queenie being bedbound, no other family in the house except Chas; Chas gets to decide if John can come around, stay for tea, what they can do and what they can eat. Sometimes she’ll crack down, decide John’s not welcome and kick him out on his arse, but for the most part all she cares about is that Chas does her bidding.

“Course I’m sure.” Chas agrees. “Doctor Who’s on in a bit. By the time that’s over your dad’s sure to have cooled off. Or passed out.”

John can’t help relaxing back a bit into the sofa. “Thanks, Chas.”

Chas just shakes his head, acting like it’s no big bother when John knows that really, this is a delicate balancing act he’s doing, constantly toeing the line of what his mother will allow. Especially after such a stark reminder of what she can do, of the fact she’s not afraid to hurt Chas, really hurt him, John wouldn’t blame him for telling John to go. Chas risks a lot for John – enough that John wouldn’t even know how to start on showing his gratitude.

For now, he reckons, spending an evening with him, helping him make dinner, laughing with him over a silly TV programme, will have to do.

It might even be enough, if the smile on Chas’ face is anything to go by.

**Author's Note:**

> John Constantine tries his best to be a good mate to Chas and I stand by that. They understand each other in ways no-one else really does.
> 
> Also, in case you care, I headcanon that John's Doctor is Seven. Seven is considered one of the darker iterations of The Doctor, often manipulating and playing people around him like he's playing a giant chess game against evil, and I think that would appeal to John.
> 
> Thank you for reading, feedback is as always appreciated!!


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